First
by JunkoTheHatter
Summary: She opened his eyes. Daryl/OC. Might be a little AU at some points.
1. First Meeting

Chapter 1

_First Meeting_

He is somewhat surprised when he comes back to his motorcycle to find her seated behind the handle bars, hastily trying to hot-wire it. It becomes obvious to him that she's experienced at this when the motorcycle revs to life. He smirks.

"What the hell are you doing?"

She is unlike any woman he has ever seen: a horrific, wild thing.

Her skin is lightly tanned, with little stains of dirt and blood here and there. Her dark brown hair is a mess, lazily pulled back into a ponytail, and swaying barely past her shoulder blades. And when she turns, hearing the noise of the crunching leaves under her feet, she becomes slightly ashamed that she had been so careless and not heard him approach at all. He becomes distracted by the way her hair frames her face, thinking that she reminds him of a lion.

He smiles down at her dirty clothes: it was obvious that this girl was alone and hadn't cleaned herself or her clothing for a while. She wore a dark grey tank top, her white bra just barely exposing itself at the edges of the low cut collar; Her jeans had been ripped to shreds, exposing her firm thighs adorned with cuts and dark bruises. And her labyrinthian bandages adorning her wrists catches his eyes. She is truly wild.

He is dumb founded by her tall, heeled combat boots, wondering how someone could possible walk, better yet fight zombies, in those ridiculous shoes. However, her quick graceful movements as she rises from the motorcycle, disprove his thoughts.

He adores the way her vibrant green eyes fill with guilt as she sees that she has been caught in the act of trying to steal his bike. He thinks that she might surrender and beg that he not kill her, but instead she glares him down and he finds himself trapped by her hand on his shoulder with the sharp edge of a climbing hook at his neck. But he only lets out a small laugh and stares back into her glowing orbs. She raises a brow challengingly, scrutinizing him, refusing to back down.

Her voice is touched by a strong, melodic tone as she hisses at him.

"Leave, or die. Your decision."

She looks slightly shocked when he chuckles and shakes his head.

"Yeah, I'm not doing that."

He winces a little when she presses the hook firmly into his neck.

"And why would you be so stupid?" she scoffs.

"Well," he begins. "Your excellence in hot-wiring aside, how exactly do you plan on getting away alive?"

Her confidence appears to falter as she realizes that she probably didn't fully think this through.

"I feel the need to tell you that my group has a small set up not too far from here, and once they see you driving by on my motorcycle, they'll shoot you. Besides, a woman your size is going to have a difficult time driving that thing."

"It's not as difficult as you say," she replies with a smirk. "Driving them comes as naturally to me as breathing."

"You could be right," he smirks back. "But I doubt you've ever driven anything like a _Bonneville_."

"I have rode more motorbikes than cigarettes you've smoked," she snaps at him. "Yours shouldn't be any different."

He just continues to smile.

"I'm not denying it, but I'm betting that you'll have a hard time operating her with the upgrades me and my brother made for her."

Her eyes almost immediately lose their hostility as she realizes that he's been one step ahead of her this whole time and that she'll probably be killed. But she continues to firmly hold her hook in place. She could always just kill him and walk away unharmed.

"Well," he continues brightly, lifting up his hands in surrender. "Since you're so excited, I may as well ask you to join our little group."

She eyes him skeptically before turning her face away, refusing to make eye contact.

"What do you say?"

He watches her expressions as she continues to grasp her weapon.

"It's obvious, you know," he tempts her. "It's been a while since you've been with someone, eaten something."

"Why would you care?" she hisses, trying to keep up her predatory role.

He leans his face down until it's merely inches from hers. "I _don't _care in the slightest."

Her eyes are on fire as he continues to gaze into her.

"_But, _I can practically hear your inner cries for friends and you seem like you could be an asset to us."

Hesitantly, she lowers her weapon from his neck, letting her hand fall limp to her side.

"You may have survived on your own for a while, but you can't stay that way forever."

The corners of her lip curl upward bitterly as she places a hand on her hip. "Just get to the point."

Her other hand grips the climbing hook so tightly, he can hear the metal creak beneath the pressure - something that starts to make him anxious. He bites the skin on his thumb, thinking through his next words carefully.

"I'm trying to give you something that's rare to find these days," he offers. "Whatever you choose, I really couldn't care less."

She seems slightly surprised at his proposal, smiling awkwardly as she holsters her hook through her jeans belt loop in one graceful motion.

"She's obviously been cared for," she says, glancing at his bike.

There is a hint of something in her voice that concerns him, but the growing urge to brag about his motorbike kills this worry and he opens his mouth only to be abruptly cut off by her hiss.

"But," she continues, eyeing him carefully. "She still needs an excessive amount of work. Your improvements are clearly homemade and could fall apart at any moment."

Despite his knee-jerk instinct to jump in and defend himself, he realizes that not only had she accepted his offer, but she had also outsmarted him. Oh Lord, a woman skilled in motorcycles and her tongue; he couldn't believe she existed and was standing right in front of him.

"I guess that settles it then," he says confidently, swallowing the little pride she'd left for him. "Now we gotta get back and explain this whole thing. What's your name, anyway?"

"Aria," she answers.

"Welcome to the family I guess," he says lifting his leg over the seat of the bike.

"I'm Daryl."


	2. First Glance

Chapter 2

_First Glance_

He distinctly remembers the first time he had ever caught her staring at him, and he is rather proud to have caught her discreet admiration. It was funny, one as beautiful as she eyeing him. He knows that he is at least a little good looking, but he is almost nothing compared to her.

He is almost flattered until her emerald eyes dart away in embarrassment when she realizes he's noticed her. A part of him wants to poke at her nerves, tease her a little, but he just smirks. He can tell that she's nervous, even though she is not fidgeting or squirming like most women would. Not a single muscle tenses under her flawless tanned skin. She sits on the rock next to him, focused on the still water, as cold and unmoving as ever. It had not taken him long to get used to her apathy and lack of emotion or opinion. Now, he often sought refuge in her tranquil nature and found her rather pleasant to be around.

He risks another glance in her direction, but only finds her adjusting her long ponytail. And when she looks back at him with as much indifference as usual, he nods slightly and goes back to staring out into the water. Once she's done, she continues to stare up into the blue mass of sky, dotted with sparse clouds. He lets out a bored sigh as he lays down, closing his eyes as he brings a knee up and crosses his arms behind his head.

He listens as she gets up from her rock and he hears the sound of her boots on the rocks as she leaves the area. Suddenly, as if she had never left in the first place, all falls silent.

Even though it has only been a month, she had earned his full trust since day one, so he shrugs it off and relaxes further, feeling the tiredness fill his body.

It is not until he is on the edge of falling asleep when a soft rustling rouses him. He cracks an eye open, and just barely catches the small flick of her ponytail as she straightens herself that fraction of an inch. She is once again sitting beside him as though she had never left his side.

'Staring again, huh?' he muses.

He silently grins to himself; he wants to tease her, but thinks better of it. Besides, he thinks, she never says anything when she catches _him _staring.


	3. First Touch

Chapter 3

_First Touch_

He looks to the setting sun, then back to her. The warm golden glow of the sky suits her well: soft and inviting on her tanned skin. The glimmer of the twilight sky in her emerald eyes is breath taking. She is beautiful to him normally, but something about the soft glow of sunset is truly ravishing on her, and he hungers to reach out and touch her to see if she really is as soft and warm as she looks.

She is seated next to him at their small camp fire, legs crossed and a glass of water glimmering at her feet, waiting to be touched. He's already downed three glasses and is now moving on to his fourth. He watches her stare passively at the setting sun, seeming unsettled by the loud bustling of the survivors around them. She seems frozen, besides the minute rise and fall of her chest as she breathes. He is amazed that she can keep such countenance.

When she looks at him, he smirks and raises his glass of water to her, downing it in one go. She nods uninterested and returns her attention to the coming evening. He wishes she would take notice of him more, maybe grace him with the slightest of smiles rather than a nod or raised brow. Sometimes he wonders if she even thinks of him as little more than a nuisance.

Setting his glass down on the ground, he leans back and stretches, holding back a yawn.

He finds himself unable to keep his eyes away from the copper glow of her shoulders. He often wonders if she understands how beautiful she is. How can she not? He sees the envy in the other women's eyes as she walks across camp with him. At those times he wished to slip an arm around her waist or shoulders, to rest his fingers against her soft hips or perhaps give her arm a gentle squeeze. And when he hears the hushed whispers of the others, murmuring about her 'coldness', he is inclined to turn and ask if they are blind and can't see the warm glow of her tanned skin. But more than that, he longs to touch that skin and see if it will really warm his fingers when it rains and the pair sit in his tent, watching the rainstorm rage on just outside and chill their bones. And now as he stands, he decides that now was a better time than any.

Moving to stand beside her chair, he places his hand on her shoulder, and whispers that they should be getting to bed, that they have a long day of hunting tomorrow. Leaving one hand to revel in her warmth, he uses his other hand to remove the plate from her lap before offering that hand to help her from her seat. Hesitantly, she places her delicate hand in his and stands. He smiles as they leave the campfire, his fingertips still tingling from the warmth of her body heat and the smooth feel of her skin as she takes the lead back to the tents. He stuffs them in his deep pockets as he takes one final glance at the last sliver of the sun that is slipping behind the RV. He is in no hurry to get to sleep tonight.


	4. First Mistake

Chapter 4

_First Mistake_

He knew that there would be one eventually, but he didn't find it fair for the way it happened.

He cannot believe how badly he needs to bathe, as though he hadn't cleaned himself in a week when he'd actually just done so this morning. He hates it when she tells him it's his turn to take care of the _Boneville's _maintenance. Besides, it's not his fault that he's not as skilled in that department as she is. And now, after thrice the amount of time it would've taken his partner, he is covered from head to toe in grease, oil, dirt, grime, and God knew what else.

He mutters to himself as he stomps down the pathway to the lake. He gets to the shoreline and stops short, feeling as though he'd been punched in the gut. He stands there, staring at his surprised partner who's bath he'd just interrupted. He feels his jaw go loose as it falls open.

He is mesmerized by the way her hair flows around her in the water, floating on the surface of the water as though it were mist. Her drenched bangs cling to her face and little beads of water drip from her eyelashes. The water drops trail over her body in the most erotic of ways, sliding in between her breasts and over her bare shoulders. The entirety of her lower body is submerged in the water, but he can still see the slenderness of her legs, the curve of her hips, and the roundness of her bottom beneath the water. This is the first time he's ever seen her so exposed.

He realizes that she is now staring at him very strangely and he becomes aware of his greasy skin, his dirty clothes, and the state of his unruly hair. He opens his mouth to make a joke about bathing together to save on time, but instantly closes it before he has a chance to embarrass himself more, especially since he started taking notice to the tightness of his pants. He clears his throat and straightens his posture in order to regain his composure before looking her in the eyes.

"I'm done with the maintenance."

Before she can say anything at all, he has turned his back on her, and he is hurrying up the pathway to the refuge of the camp. No, he thinks. This isn't fair at all.


	5. First Embrace

Chapter 5

_First Embrace_

It was their most successful outing so far. He jokingly says that the _Bonneville _might collapse under the weight of their loot, and she regards his statement with a slight shimmer in her eyes.

He smiles widely as he juggles a baseball in his hands and asks her if there's anything that they looted that she wants, but she simply shakes her head in the negative and goes back to looking up into the dark sky. He tosses the ball back into the duffle bag, a little disappointed that she doesn't want him to spoil her, but dismisses the thought as he doesn't plan on listening to her anyway. But, what should he give her? Perhaps he should give her the compound bow and shotgun he caught her eyeing as she looted them. After all, his lovely partner deserves nothing but the best. But, he also wants to give her less practical things, like clothes or jewelry maybe. Maybe some night clothes since he often wonders what she wears to bed, if anything at all. He smiles to himself as he thinks about how alluring she would look in one of those tiny, blue silken nightgowns that were trimmed in lace he saw in the window of a lingerie store the other day.

"We need to look through this bag tomorrow," he smiles in her direction.

She only remarks him with concerned eyes before shrugging without bias and turns away. She is standing outside his tent, her back to him and arms crossed, looking rather passive with their spoils and disinterested with their success.

In a situation like this, he might get put off by her inactive state of mind, but he only beams and shoves the bag aside, too buoyant to care what it hits or what happens to its contents. He finds himself sprinting through his tent's entrance and ambushing her from behind, wrapping his arms around her waist and lifting her up off the ground. He squeezes her to his body and swings her around in circles in the most elated of bear hugs, laughing hysterically in his euphoria. Bewildered, she claws at his muscled forearms, clinging to him as he whirls her around. And when he at last puts her down, releasing her from his clutches, she turns to gaze at him, puzzled and dazed. He is still laughing and hollering at the top of his lungs, smiling wider than she has ever seen. His eyes even begin to water from the merriment. And as she is staring at him as though he has gone insane, he realizes, as he was searching through their loot earlier looking for the item of most value, it is standing right in front of him. She gasps, startled as he pulls her into his arms once again, wrapping them around her waist and burying his face into the crook of her neck trying to stifle his laughter within the sensitive skin there. To hell with his aching sides.


	6. First Regret

Chapter 6

_First Regret_

He stumbled against the sink, trying to figure out how he was going to break the mirror so his reflection can't taunt him anymore. He can't help but feel like he's going insane because the face that he sees each time is his brother's. Has he just been running all this time?

His bedroom in the CDC is completely destroyed; all his clothes are scattered everywhere - some even ripped to shreds - expensive sheets torn from the bed, priceless lamps shattered, furniture broken apart. He clenches his fists in his hair and lets out a frustrated groan, glaring once again into the mirror on the wall. But it's his older brother he sees staring back at him, eyes crazed as he smirks back at him.

He can't take it anymore, throwing his fist into the glass, feeling it crack and break against the impact. And when he jerks his aching hand back, it is shredded and blood squirts violently out of the wounds, staining the tile floor. But he still feels nothing but anger. He feels the tears sting his eyes as he kneels to the floor, clutching his maimed hand. And suddenly she is in the doorway, glancing around tranquilly at the ravaged state of his room. Then she sees him, broken down in front of the bathroom sink surrounded by the broken mirror. Silently, she makes her way to kneel beside him, laying a comforting hand on his arm.

"Daryl."

He glares at her half-crazed, jerking his arm out of her grip.

"Don't touch me."

Her eyes remain soft and concerned, trying to keep her face from wavering. "Daryl."

"Get out of here."

She caresses his cheek lightly, stroking the bone with her thumb, shrugging off his foul mood and venomous words. He relaxes only slightly, reveling in her delicate touch, but underneath it all, he still feels his anger rising. A small part of him longs to reach up and caress her face as well, but he's afraid the blood from his knuckles might stain her flawless skin. But he can't help himself as he traces her jawline with his fingertips. Her brow knits together as she notices the blood on the floor and his shredded knuckles. Taking his hand in hers, she studies the buried shards in the broken flesh and he groans in pain as she pulls out a particularly large piece lodged deep in his knuckle.

"God damn it, Aria!" he scolds, wrenching his hand out of hers.

Instead of trying to argue that he needs to do something about it, she keeps silent and rises to her feet, staring sadly down at her broken partner.

"I'm sorry."

The hurt in her voice was obvious as she turns and leaves him there kneeling on the floor wallowing in his anger, cradling his bloody fist. He stares after her, suddenly hating himself even more than he did before. What in the world has he done?


	7. First Apology

Chapter 7

_First Apology_

He goes to her later that night, when the lights in the hall have dimmed to feign night time. He drags himself down the hallway, only imagining how terrifying he must look: dark circles under his puffy red eyes, brown hair matted to his face, dried blood staining his clothes, shirt ripped, his ruined knuckles clotted with solidified blood with shards of mirror still buried within the raw pink flesh. So with his good hand, he opens the door, and as it opens, the first thing he notices is her sitting in a chair with a book in her lap. His body aches with guilt remembering how cruel he'd treated her, because he'd let his problems get in the way. He'd never meant to be so harsh.

He thinks that she might be asleep when she doesn't turn or speak to him after the door closes. But as he stands there, he can see her eyelashes flutter from behind her hair, and her green eyes are very much awake. His guilt bolts him to the floor where he stands as he watches her turn the pages of her book.

"Look, Aria…I-I'm really sorry."

Nothing.

"I was just upset and…"

Nothing.

"I didn't want to hurt you."

For another few seconds, she remains silent, and the turning of her pages is the only movement she has to offer. Now thinking that she's not going to forgive him for treating her as such, he feels the guilt boiling in the pit of his stomach and the tears spring uninvited to his eyes. He stiffens, curling his hands into fists despite the intense pain shooting up his right arm and the fresh blood that now drips down onto the carpet as he stares spitefully at the ground.

"I'm terrible."

"Are you done?"

When he jerks his head up, stunned, she is standing in front of him without him ever hearing her get up, staring at him indifferently, unheeding of his apology. She takes him by his good hand and leads him back to the chair. He sits down submissively as she kneels in front of him, lifting his shredded hand and examining it carefully. He slowly finds himself drawn back to the blood stain on her jaw, gently caressing it with his clean hand.

"I did this."

He groans as she pulls out a mirror fragment from his knuckle, bringing his attention back to his ruin of a hand.

"It'll wash off."

She continues her work silently, and he tenses every time she pulls out another shard from his injury until she finally finishes and is cleaning the wound with peroxide. He feels like he's a child again; a little boy having antiseptic applied to a skinned knee. It irritates him terribly and he hisses in anguish, attempting to jerk his hand away but her grip on him tightens.

At last, she is wrapping gauze around his injured hand. He knows she will tease him about this in a few weeks, about how much of a baby he is and how he can take a dagger to the side without complaining, but acts like it's torture when she applies hydrogen peroxide to his cuts.

And now, as he stands and heads towards the door, he can't help himself as he turns around and calls to her.

"Aria, I-"

She sits down with her book, and looks up to him, his expression gloomy and heavy with guilt. "It's fine."

And then she goes back to her reading.


	8. First Smile

Chapter 8

_First Smile_

It eludes him completely, but for whatever inscrutable reason, she seems five times as irresistible than usual. Or maybe he's just desperate. He's not entirely sure. But she is standing in the small bathroom of the RV, in front of the mirror, running a comb through her pristine brown hair that floats around her body, free from its ponytail. There has been only one other time when he has seen her hair down, and just thinking about it only excites him more. He hadn't even meant to stop in the doorway and stare, but passing by on the way to get his crossbow from the back room, he couldn't resist.

"You know," he says, grinning flirtatiously as he leans against the door frame, "you should really wear your hair down more."

She says nothing to him, continuing to comb gently through her hair as though he wasn't even there.

"Pulling it up is easier," she answers.

"Yeah," he agrees, moving to stand behind her so his eyes can meet hers in the mirror, "but it looks _much _better like this."

He places a hand on her shoulder and uses the other to toy with a brown wavy. He curls the lock around one of his fingers before slowly unraveling it again.

"Maybe some other time," she replies, gathering it all up to the back of her head.

But he stops her, pulling her hands away and gently placing them at her sides, watching in the mirror as her eyes narrow.

"No," he says. "I think that today is a good time."

To his astonishment, her glare turns into an awkward smile as her hair cataracts around her, "You…think it's okay?"

He smiles discretely, resting his hands on her shoulders again, "It's more than okay."

She gazes back to her own reflection, a distinct gleam in her eyes as she examines her appearance.

"Really?"

"Really."

He watches the corner of her lips curl upward and he catches a glimpse of her white teeth. And it is very opaque, but he can see the signs of a blush spreading across her cheeks, an alluring contrast under her umber complexion.

"Do you…do you think I'm beautiful?"

He begins to wonder if no one has ever told her, and he becomes disappointed.

"You feel the need to ask?"

She stares at the floor, "I've always been very quiet. No matter how beautiful you are, if you don't speak up, you'll go unnoticed. So, I guess I'm a wallflower."

His brow furrows as he continues to stare at her with an indifferent expression.

"That's disappointing, a beautiful woman should always be informed of just how beautiful she really is."

"You think so?" she asks and the smile on his face is genuine.

"Yeah."

She smiles back, and her seeming shyness surprises him. But he is happy nonetheless to see her angelic face bearing an expression besides indifference.

"…Thank you," she whispers.

He gives her shoulders a reassuring squeeze, smiling at her in the mirror.

"It's no trouble."

With a soft flick of her hair, he leaves her to her business and reluctantly returns to his. He grins as he exits the RV and begins to search the cars on the highway. He should compliment her more often.


	9. First Argument

Chapter 9

_First Argument_

Their relationship was shaky right now. Wait a minute, that wasn't right. What is he thinking? Relationship? Ha, that's a good joke. He can't even remember the last date he'd had, and his apathetic partner doesn't fit the category. But he thinks that its his own fault that they're having problems, his own fault for being so damn stubborn, and disputatious. Perhaps if he hadn't been so arrogant, they wouldn't be in this situation.

He stares dismally at the cabinet knocked over in front of the door, knowing that it would be easy to just lift up off the ground and fight through the countless walkers in the hallway of the small four story clinic. But the angry walkers banging on the door keep him from surrendering to his temptation.

Casting a hopeful glance at his partner, she is perched on the counter a few feet away. He smiles at her sheepishly, but her only response is a menacing glare and he looks away hastily. This isn't good, he thinks. It will definitely require a great deal of persuasion for her to forgive him for _this_.

He coughs awkwardly, "Well, uh…got any good ideas?"

"You're the one who got us into this mess."

So it is now officially his job to get them out.

"Ha," he laughs guiltily, "I guess I did, huh?"

She says nothing more to him and the room is deathly quiet except for the banging of the walkers on the door.

A few more hours pass in that same self-imposed silence and the walkers have left their door and shuffled off to another far off part of the clinic.

He stands from his chair and stretches, yawning loudly as he rubs his sore tailbone.

"So," he says, hoping to lighten the mood, "Why don't we find a way out of here?"

She scowls at him as she slips off the counter and strides toward the far off left corner of the examination room where she jiggles the door open and goes into the room next door that is currently unoccupied and unlocked. He breathes a quiet sigh of relief - that was the reaction he'd been hoping for, because in all honesty, he had no idea how they were going to get out of here. So he follows her through the newly open door into the next room and out into the hall where it appears that no walkers are milling about.

She weaves their way through the clinic labyrinth, him following obediently, neither saying a single word until they reach a far-off corner of the clinic; an area that appeared to be closed off for construction before the dead started walking. But he knows better than to criticize or question, more so because of her foul mood than her sharp instincts, only handing her a medium sized sledge hammer he kept in his backpack when she outstretched her palm. He clearly comprehends her logic of selecting this particular place; the wooden wall here is slightly rotten and weak, and is located in such a remote niche of the clinic that the attention that could be drawn by the smashing on the wood will be little or none, allowing them a very clean escape.

Once she breaks down the wall and the dust clears, she is loping down the corridor that she'd just revealed, paying little to no mind to the fact that she's left him behind. He scratches the back of his head, wincing. Yes, a _great deal_ of persuasion, he thinks as he jogs behind her.

Later that evening when they have made a safe getaway on the _Bonneville_, loot and all(but no Sophia), and he has them parked back at the ranch, he cautiously pokes his head into her tent, half expecting her to hurl her shoes at him. But instead, he finds her sitting on her cot, fixing a silver hairpin onto her bangs. He smiles as he dares to take another step into her tent.

"You know, silver's a really good color on you."

She does not look at him as she straightens the decoration at the front of her hair, "Thanks."

"Look, Aria, I'm really sorry about this whole mess with finding Sophia. It's just that-"

"You could have gotten us both killed," she interrupts him, a certain edge to her calm voice.

He rubs the back of his neck in shame, "I know. I'm really sorry."

"Well, sometimes sorry doesn't fix the problem, Daryl," she replies coldly, still refusing to make contact.

She is clearly shocked when he sits down next to her and takes her hand in his, mischief hiding behind his innocent eyes.

"Well, what can I do to fix this?" he hums, lightly running his thumb over the soft skin of her hand.

He watches, amused, as her cheeks adopt a light blush.

"Because you know that I would do anything, if it would mean that you would forgive me."

He rubs his thumb on her hand once more.

Her eyes are glossy and she can feel her heart fluttering as he continues to caress her hand with his thumb. He pulls her onto his shoulder, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, and smiling, when he knows that he's won when he feels her timidly, hesitantly, embrace him back.

He's a Dixon, he thinks, and a Dixon always gets what he wants.


	10. First

Chapter 10

He wonders how it would feel to throw himself in and out of her the way he does in his dreams, or how she would sound screaming his name when she comes. How would the sweat-slicked skin of her neck taste, and would she leave scars up and down his back from being a tad too rough with her finger nails? Would her breasts be that soft, or her backside that firm? Is her skin that smooth all the way down? Would she twist her fingers in his short brown hair and nibble at his lip when he kisses her? And is the cot going to be a mess when they finish? Will the tent be so hot that he can see steam rising off their entangled bodies? When the day rolls around and he finally wins her over, is the sex going to be as amazing as he imagines?

He rolls over in his cot, arm tucked under his head as a makeshift pillow, ignoring the uncomfortable tightness of his boxers. He wouldn't deny it, he dreams of her often. But now, he lies awake - too restless for sleep - and thinks of her.

His mind is distracted, but his body is not and he pays no mind to the hand creeping lower on his body of its own free will.

As he begins something he hasn't done since he was a teenager and had just seen a girl naked for the first time, he drifts away into another fantasy. Images of her face flash behind his closed eyelids as his lips part and he groans inwardly. In his dream, he doesn't think about how pathetic he is, only about how he is with her again, thrusting in and out at a bestial pace. He doesn't think about how he is actually alone in his tent, and that she is next door, asleep in her own. He doesn't think about anything, just about how good it all feels, even though it's just a dream and cheap self-gratification. But dreams don't last, as he has learned many times, and he pulls away before he can make a mess, hating himself even more. His mind resettles and he can't believe that he stooped so low. She would be disgusted with him. Hell, he's disgusted with himself. He gives himself a moment, subduing the rest of his unfinished business, before he throws back the blanket and rises from the cot. It is so late now that he doesn't even bother with clothing and instead wanders out of his tent. In two steps he is there, staring at her tent's folds, hesitating. While he does not want to wake her up if she is really sleeping, he knows that the curiosity will get the better of him eventually. Better sooner than later, he thinks, pushing aside the tent's opening. He walks in and he sees her sitting on her cot reading a book, wearing just a white tank top and her underwear.

When he steps inside fully, her eyes flutter up to him and she finds him slightly bent over so he can fit, all bare chest and boxers. Her eyes want to devour him whole, but she looks instead at his equally handsome, but sleep-deprived face, dark circles beneath his eyes and hair tousled to boot.

She probably thinks I'm crazy, he assumes belatedly. And from the confused look on her face, he realizes that his assumption has been confirmed.

After a moment, when he says nothing and only stands in her tent awkwardly, her brows raise in wonder.

"Did you want something?"

He glances hesitantly from her to his bare feet on the dirt and back to her. Lifting his arm, he places a hand on the back of his shoulder before reluctantly meeting her eyes.

"Aria, what do you think of me?"

His question catches her off guard, and she finds herself stopping to ponder it.

"Well, you're kind of like family to me, I guess," she replies quietly.

His legs carry him across to her to sit with her on the cot. He looks her in the eyes, his own irises blazing.

"Is that really how you feel about me? I'm just a brother, or a father?"

She seems surprised by his sudden intensity, but does not back away.

"I wasn't saying that," she corrects, intrigued by his behavior.

This was very unlike her partner.

"If I'm your family, then what am I to you? How do you really feel about me, Aria? What do you _think _of me?" he urges her.

She pauses again, wondering what in the world has come over her partner, the other figuring out how to correctly answer this question.

After another moment, she responds slowly: "You are my partner, my companion, my leader, my family -"

"Is that really all I'm worth to you? Are those things - a partner, a leader - all I'll ever be to you? Am I ever going to be something more?" he interrupts calmly, drawing closer to her.

"What do you want me to say?" she asks, equally tranquil.

He smiles, rediscovering his confidence, and caresses her cheek with the back of his palm, "You know what, I'm not really sure."

Her eyes widen when he presses his lips against her.

She is like a statue for a long moment before she finds the courage to uncertainly - clumsily - kiss him back. His lips move gently against hers just as he pulls away, his smile more wistful as he stands.

"Goodnight, Aria."

She watches, stunned, as he leaves. Her tent's folds flap shut behind him and she listens to him flop back onto his own cot, his tent's folds flapping as well. Her lips tremble and her head feels dizzy, and she can't fathom why.


End file.
